


August 13th, Maine

by Julesin



Series: Runaways, or That Feel When Multiverse Theory is Confirmed Canon [12]
Category: Everyman HYBRID, MLAndersen0, Marble Hornets, Stan Frederick, Tribe Twelve
Genre: Distrust of Past Friends, Gen, Metahumans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-09 07:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julesin/pseuds/Julesin
Summary: They knew he hadn't been doing well, but they definitely didn't expect him to be so cheerful about it.





	1. Part 1

Noah was shaking. He could feel it. He just didn't know why. The cedar (or was it rosewood? He didn't know wood, this was bullshit) door stood before him, strangely imposing despite the fact that he'd opened plenty of them in his lifetime. There was just...something, something about this door that made him stop. 

Though it was more likely what might lie behind it that made him cautious. 

He glanced back towards the cars. Vincent was leaning out the driver's side window of his car, and gave a little wave when Noah looked back. Jessica had unbuckled and climbed into the driver's side of his own car, and gave a thumbs up of her own. He turned back to the house. 

Lifting his hand to knock on that door was probably one of the hardest things he'd ever done, and that was saying a lot. But he did, the sharp thuds hollow even to him. There was no response, no muffled "Coming!," no movement from inside the house. He let it go for several moments, then knocked again, unease growing at the thought that they might have the wrong house. 

They didn't. 

The door cracked open easily after his second knock, the person who'd opened it giving him a blank look. 

Noah's eyes widened. 

Stan Frederick stood in front of him, eyes blank and staring, face devoid of any emotion. His skin was cracked, lines of energy scattered across it and crackling out into the open air. His eyes weren't just blank, they were inhuman, a ring of light around his iris's making them glow uncannily. The hand he had against the door and in Noah's view shook, fingers twitching at the knuckles like they were having individual seizures. 

The thought struck Noah that it must be hard to hold anything if both hands did that. 

A smile broke out across Stan's face, and Noah had to suppress a shiver at how uncomfortable it looked. "Noah. What a surprise." Even his voice was hollow and echoing, and Noah swallowed. "Let me get my things, and we can set out."

Noah opened his mouth, but Stan had already disappeared back into the depths of the house, which was so dark on the inside that he couldn't make out anything besides odd shadows that could have been furniture but also could have been writhing eldritch creatures with tentacles. 

That was an odd place for his mind to go. 

Noah glanced back at the cars again, wondering if his companions had seen any of that. It didn't appear so. Jessica had vanished back into the car to talk to Brian, Alex and Michael; Vincent had turned to look at Evan. He was alone in the decision of whether to trust this creature that may or may not be the Stan he knew. 

It was a bit late for that, though, as 'Stan' reappeared, carrying a backpack and shoving a wallet in his pocket. "Shall we?" he practically purred, his voice such an odd tone that Noah felt the air crackle. He nodded, the only thing he could do, and Stan passed him to head for the cars. 

Noah stared at the front door, which had been left open, for several moments, then blinked out of his haze and hurried to close it. He turned to see Stan only a few feet away, watching him curiously. 

"Which car am I in?"

Noah struggled to find words, finally forcing out, "Don't you have your own?"

Stan opened his mouth, shut it again, looked away, then looked back, the smallest bit of irritation evident in his thinly pressed lips and slightly quirked eyebrow. "I do, don't I? What am I doing?" He headed back towards the house, clapping Noah on the shoulder as he passed. "Thanks, man. I've been forgetting things all over the place recently."

The touch sent a static shock across Noah's shoulders, and he shivered, nodding. He watched Stan head for the garage, then looked back to the others. 

They hadn't missed it that time. Vincent was watching Stan go with concern, and the back window of Noah's car had rolled down, showing Michael watching as well. The latter met Noah's eyes moments later, fear evident, and that pushed Noah to follow after the changed man. 

Stan was trying to start his car, though it seemed determined not to do what he wanted, despite him fiddling with the engine. He swore quietly and kicked the driver's side door, making the open hood shake, then swore louder, looking down at his probably now sore foot. Noah cleared his throat, and felt the air change as Stan noticed him. 

"Oh, hey. Sorry, I haven't used this hunk of junk in a while. Haven't needed to, you know what I mean?"

"N-not really."

Stan's grin fell. "Oh. Um. Right..." He turned back to the car, swinging into the front seat and turning the keys again. Magically, the engine hummed to life, and Stan's face lit up, figuratively and literally. Little lights sparked out from the cracks in his skin, and Noah flinched despite them not being anywhere near him. "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about!" Stan scurried out of the car, shutting the hood and leaning against it, a satisfied smile on his cracked face. "All ready to go. Head on out, and I'll follow. Where we goin'?"

Noah considered the question for a moment. They didn't actually have a destination at this point, just a plan to keep moving and never stop. They had allies now, both in this world and in others, but they still weren't safe. Probably wouldn't be for a long time. He shrugged. 

"That's comforting."

Noah looked away, uneasy about the fact that he was so quickly getting used to the way the air crackled around Stan. "Well, we don't really have a specific plan. Just, stay on the road. Don't want to get caught by any bullshit, you know?"

Stan nodded understandingly. "So we just gonna do like, loops around the country then?"

Noah shrugged again. "At some point Damien'll probably let us know what to do. We don't have nearly as much information as them."

Stan slid into the front seat. “Fair enough. Go ahead, I'll be right behind you."

Noah hurried back out of the garage and to the other cars, hopping into his own and starting it back up. Jessica opened her mouth, but he put up a hand to stop the oncoming question. "In a bit, let’s just get moving." He pulled out, watching in his rearview mirror as Vincent followed right behind. Stan's car pulled out of the garage of whatever this house he'd been staying at was, keeping close to Vincent's. 

They left the little neighborhood behind, Jessica directing him to the nearest freeway that would take them back south, out of Maine. Once they were on their way, Noah let out a breath, glancing in the mirror to make sure the two cars were still behind them. "Stan's changed a lot. I don't know what happened to him, but he's not human anymore."

"Do you think he's dangerous?" Alex queried from the back seat. 

"I'm...not sure. I'd like to say no, but I don't honestly know."

"Do you trust him?"

Noah looked into the rearview mirror to meet Michael's eyes. He was solemn, his expression tight and slightly scared. Noah couldn't lie to him. "I don't know. I think we have to. If he wasn't trustworthy, why would Damien send us to get him?"

Michael stayed silent, turning to look out the window. 

Everyone grew similarly quiet as they drove, weighing their options. 

Like a ghost, Stan followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: more angst  
> I love Stan... I love him


	2. Part 2

They returned to the same town they'd stayed in the previous night. It was probably a dumb move, but hopefully one that wouldn't cost them—they chose a hotel on the other side of town, hoping it would make a difference. 

In Noah's car, they discussed at length where Stan would be sleeping. They couldn't give him his own room, there wasn't enough trust for that, but no one really seemed comfortable sharing a room with him until Michael spoke up, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

"Both Patrick and I have experience with him, we contacted him a lot before things went downhill. I think if I room with him, someone he knows, he’s more likely to talk about what he’s been through, and less likely to lash out.”

Noah didn’t seem to like this idea, and he muttered that Evan wouldn’t either, but it was eventually deemed the best route, and when they stopped at the hotel, Michael grabbed his bag out of Noah's car, heading towards Stan’s.

“Hey.” Stan started, almost dropping his coat, then grinned. 

“Hey! Are you my roommate?” At Michael’s nod, he resumed what he’d been doing, pulling on the jacket and grabbing his own bag. “Sweet. Shall we?”

He and Michael brought up the back of the group as Tim paid for three rooms. When they entered the third one, Michael set his bag down carefully on one bed, moving to close the window shade. Once that was done, he went through the bag he’d put down to find the medication Damien had provided him last time they’d visited. He’d need more soon. 

Stan tossed his own backpack a little less gently to the floor, then flopped down on the other mattress with a groan.

“Ugh, hotel beds. I did not miss you.”

Michael sat down opposite him very carefully. This would be awkward.

There was silence for several minutes as Michael stared at the wall and Stan remained with his face buried in the pillows. He didn’t come up for air, and Patrick muttered, _Should we ask if he’s okay?_ moments before Stan sat up again. 

“Michael, can we talk?”

It was a jarring transition. Before, Stan had been bubbly, excited, and for all accounts and purposes it had seemed genuine. But now, his voice was quieter, and it had that air of despair and exhaustion to it that Michael found so uncomfortably familiar. He nodded wordlessly.

“I want to apologize.”

Michael waited for him to continue, but there was nothing. They sat in silence, Michael refusing to open his mouth—he had no idea how to respond to that. How could he?

Fortunately, he didn’t need to. He felt Patrick reach out for him, urging him to descend into the mind, and he did so willingly, allowing the other inhabitant to slip past him into control of the body.

“Apologize for what?” were the first words out of Patrick’s mouth.

“For not helping you. For abandoning you when I said I would do anything I could. For saying everything would be okay when that was a complete lie.”

Michael felt his ribs squeeze, his chest hurt, and Patrick sighed. “It’s not your fault, Stan. Trust me, Michael understood that you needed to deal with your own shit first. He understood that better than I did.”

Stan turned to stare at him questioningly, his glowing eyes uncanny in the dim evening light, then swallowed hard. “You must, uh, you must be Patrick.”

“Yeah. I don’t blame you for doing what you did. There was shit going down on both ends, and you needed to pay attention to your own first. I’m just…” Patrick sighed again, briefly closing his eyes. “I just hold grudges a lot easier than Michael does.” Michael, for his credit, attempted a soothing pulse of feeling.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, eyes cast downwards. The sparks flying from his skin were somehow both colorful and colorless, flashing too fast for Patrick or Michael to tell what colors were in them. It gave Stan an almost fairy-like aura, the lights flickering off his face and the bed sheets like candles. 

They’d gone silent again, trying to process the conversation so far. Stan eventually broke it again. “I still feel like shit about it. I feel awful about abandoning everyone I said I’d help. And I know,” he added, cutting Patrick off before he could start. “Like you said, I had my own shit to deal with. A lot of it. But it still fucking bugs me.”

Patrick nodded slightly, rocking gently forward and back as a sort of replacement for continuing to talk. Stan seemed to decide that was enough, and shuffled around on his bed, pulling a couple of items out of his bag. He stripped off his shirt, revealing that the cracks in his skin trailed up and down his torso, extending farther down into his jeans. Patrick swallowed, turning away.

He quietly watched out of the corner of his eye as Stan fluffed his hair and propped up the pillows. Michael reached out to alert Patrick, and soon found himself back in control of the body, the ease of the transition almost jarring. He blinked his eyes several times, rubbing his arms to get rid of the goosebumps, and laid back on the pillows. Truthfully, he was exhausted, and though he’d love to hear everything Stan had been through, he also just wanted to sleep.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head slightly to glance at his roommate again, then sat up a little. “Stan?”

The man opened his eyes abruptly, glancing over. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to sleep?”

He rolled his eyes, shifting where he was propped up against the pillows. “You ask that like I can.”

Michael swallowed uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

Stan’s eyes narrowed. “Is this Michael?” When he received a nod, he sighed. “I can’t sleep. I mean, I can rest, and it’s… Well, it’s a little like sleeping. My brain and body functions slow down to conserve energy, but I don’t actually, like, sleep, you know?”

Michael shook his head. 

Stan shifted around again, settling lower on the bed and huffing. “The best I can describe it is like…a laptop being charged in power save mode. Energy doesn’t get used as fast as when I’m active, enough that it actually builds back up in my body so I can function the next day. I’m still conscious though, and my brain is still working, so it’s like apps running in the background, to continue the analogy. It’s definitely not the same as when I could sleep, but I at least get rest.”

“Power save mode…” Michael laid back down against his pillows, staring at the ceiling. “That must be hard.”

All the response he got was a light grunt, and when he looked back over, Stan’s eyes had closed again. The cracks in his skin were dimmed considerably, and the sparks flitting through the air slowly ceased appearing. He was so still, wasn’t even breathing—he looked like a corpse.

Michael turned over to face the other way, and tried to fall asleep.

It only sort of worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love inhuman Stan  
> @evan santiago ilu


End file.
